Kalico Aguila had never heard a gun fired up close. The sharp sound had been physically painful—like a dagger driven through her ears and into her head. Her hearing had rung for almost two hours. The wall of her room, the hallway, and even Talina Perez had been spattered with bits of blood and tissue.
That, more than anything else, had soured her on Spiro.
Clusterfuck. It was an old term, and one that had her emotionally on edge. Pile that on top of already feeling vulnerable from the unending torture of her wounds.
Would they never heal?
Turnienko—who had tried everything—remained perplexed that any kind of tissue healing was progressing so slowly.
Under it all, Kalico was just plain tired of pain—of not daring to move too fast for fear of tearing her stitches.
And most of all, she was desperate to know what was happening at Corporate Mine where her people were slogging along, barely meeting quota, and forever scurrying around close to cover.
The damnable mobbers had been back once already, but this time everyone had managed to find cover. How could people produce when they were afraid to get more than two steps from a safe hiding place?
She eased her way across her room, hating the fact that her window was now only a plastic sheet. Hardly the kind of security that would allow her to sleep in peace. Especially after a quetzal alert. The memory of Talina Perez’s broken wall notwithstanding, that fragile film of plastic wouldn’t slow a single mobber.
“Different room tonight,” she told herself.
She stepped out past where Private Miso had washed the blood speckles off her wall, and glanced down the corridor. A marine now stood outside her door, dressed in combat armor, rifle at parade rest. Spiro’s order, given that a quetzal was just across the hall in the surgery.
Kalico slowly walked down to peer into Wan Xi Gow’s room. Gow, like her, had been rudely cut up by the mobbers but managed to escape. Similar to hers, the marine’s wounds were healing so slowly as to be barely perceptible.
He lay on his bed, eyes closed, chest slowly rising and falling.
Across the hall from Wan, Mark Talbot, one of her missing marines, lay drugged after surgery to debride his wound, stitch the muscle back together, and stretch the skin of his arm tightly enough to suture.
She studied the marine’s sun-bronzed face and wondered where in hell he’d been. Let alone where his two companions had ended up.
Hard to believe he’d showed up here, all these months later, claiming he had a wife, child, and pet quetzal.
She was halfway back to her room when the door to the surgery opened and the blonde stepped out. The woman stopped short; her blue gaze had a bruised look, her mouth set hard. Something about the strong lines, the strength in her gaze, drew the eye.
“How is it going?” Kalico inclined her head toward the surgery.
“Dr. Turnienko is doing a remarkable job. She’s gluing the bones together piece by piece with an osteoblastic adhesive. She did the hip first; now she’s working on the femur, closing up as she works her way out.” She lifted an eyebrow. “How’s Mark?”
“Sleeping. I just checked on him.”
The woman’s lips pursed. “You’re really a Supervisor?”
Kalico chuckled humorlessly. “Unfortunately, every time I ask myself that same question, the answer always remains a yes.” She started to offer her hand, then thought better of it. “I’m Kalico Aguila. I’d shake, but I’m just held together by sutures.”
“Dya.” She hesitated, then added, “Dya Simonov.”
“Don’t let me keep you. If you need to get back to your little girl . . .”
“No. I mean, a person can only take so much. And Kylee’s going to make it. I could tell by Rocket’s colors. He’s starting to relax, which means Kylee’s past the danger point.”
“The quetzal knows?” Kalico asked. “How?”
“The bond is partly chemical, partly body language, maybe smell.”
“Fascinating.” Kalico added, “You look beat.”
“So do you.” Dya gestured. “Your wounds. It was death fliers, wasn’t it? They’re not healing because the creatures have a gland at the base of each claw. It secretes a molecular compound that acts as a poison. While it’s deadly to Donovanian life, it blocks the RNA receptors that trigger wound response in human cells. Makes them feel all warm and rosy. I’ve got a salve that will allow you to heal.”
Kalico felt her heart leap. “How much do you want for it? All of it?”
“It will depend on what they ask in return for Mark’s and Kylee’s surgery. But, since I don’t know that yet, just wait here.”
She turned, striding down the hall with a purpose, and out the door. Moments later she was back with a crate. Kalico could hear the rattle of glass jars.
“My room’s here,” Kalico told her, leading the way.
Inside, Dya set the crate down, rolled up her sleeves, and shut the door behind her. “Take your clothes off. I’ll need to remove your bandages.”
As Kalico complied, she asked, “What is this stuff?”
“A mixture I distill from stonewood sap, cutthroat flower, and gotcha vine. Donovanian chemistry tends to be complex. The stonewood sap holds the two digestive enzymes from gotcha and cutthroat flower in suspension. Once in the wound, the sap triggers an immune response. As your body begins to break down the sap, the enzymes are released and begin to denature the death flier’s poison. Essentially it attacks the molecule at the hydrogen bonds breaking it into the terrestrial equivalent of polypeptide chains that—”
“Right. Whatever you said, in whatever language that was.”
Dya actually smiled slightly as she peeled back one of Kalico’s bandages and started on her right hand.
“Itches,” Kalico said as the first of the salve eased into her cuts.
“Good.” Dya concentrated as she worked from wound to wound, dipping out a milky-looking paste.
“Private Talbot said you were his wife and that Kylee’s his daughter?”
“That’s right.”
“Last I knew he was an AWOL marine.”
Dya shot her an evaluative look and stopped her ministrations. “I plan on taking my husband, daughter, and Rocket home with me. If you’re going to hinder that in any way, I’ll pack up my salves and go. Right now.”
“Maybe you’d better tell me the story. And how he ended up out at your farmstead. The other two, Shintzu and Garcia? They out there, too?”
Dya shook her head. “Dead. Long before Mark made it to us. Listen, Supervisor, those three made a mistake. They flew out to see something of Donovan. They set down, and the forest took over. A nightmare got Garcia, a slug got Shin, and the roots got their aircar. Took Mark months to make it to our place. Call it a miracle.”
“And in the months since?”
“He’s become one of us. Married into the family. I’m pregnant with his child. He would have given his life for Kylee. I’d give mine for his. Simple as that.”
As bluntly as the woman spoke, it had to be the truth. The salve had continued to itch, but with a cool feeling that soothed her wounds.
Kalico considered the woman, read the resolution in her eyes. She had crossed her arms, holding the ointment in one hand. Kalico could see no give as the woman awaited her decision. As the old saying went, Donovan taught hard lessons. Kalico wondered if she had she learned any of them.
“If your salve really works on these cuts, I’ll make sure that you, your daughter, and her quetzal are safely delivered back to your farmstead in a new aircar. Your daughter’s care here will be completely compensated. I offer you that in return for those boxes of salves and ointments you’ve brought.”
“And Mark?”
“He’s still under contract. Marines are treated differently than contract labor. While officers can resign a commission after having served the requisite number of years, privates don’t have that luxury. For the moment, given his new circumstances, I’m willing to keep an open mind. But first, I’d like to hear his version of the story. How he, Garcia, and Shintzu happened to end up out there.”
“Mark goes home with me.” Dya crossed her arms.
“You’ve got spunk, but don’t push me too far. Mark’s future remains mine to determine.” Kalico raised a hand to stop Dya’s outburst. “That doesn’t mean that we can’t find a workable solution before this is all said and done. I don’t know if I’m being played for a fool. If his story pans out, let’s just say that I might be persuaded to send him back with you. Assuming, that is, that your salve actually works.”
Dya studied her, hard calculation behind the woman’s eyes.
“Best I’m willing to do for the moment,” Kalico added. “Which is a whole lot better than just ordering Spiro to pack Talbot up at gunpoint and ship him off to Corporate Mine. I’d rather not employ that option.”
Dya began dipping from the salve again. “You seem to be cast from a different mold than Clemenceau.”
“Clemenceau sought to succeed by force. My strategy, slowly learned, is to create mutually beneficial alliances rather than festering resentment. But don’t think I won’t resort to the harshest measures if no more salubrious solution presents itself.”
“Is Talina Perez your assassin, too?” Dya asked bitterly.
“No. I have Spiro for that.” Kalico made a face. “When it comes to Perez and me? That gets a bit complicated. My original plan was to put her up against a wall and shoot her for murdering Clemenceau. She outflanked me.”
“Too bad.”
“No love lost for Perez, huh? You’re not alone in that regard.” Kalico paused for a beat. “Don’t forget that if it hadn’t been for Perez, Spiro would have shot your quetzal.”
Dya jerked her head toward the surgery. “Perez is sitting in there with a rifle across her hips, ready to shoot Rocket.”
“It was the only way Turnienko and Strazinsky would agree to do the surgery. What did Perez ever do to you?”
“Killed my first husband and a friend of mine. Shot them down in cold blood on Clemenceau’s order.”
“She after you, too? That why you ran?”
Dya flared, cheeks reddening. “Wanting to be left alone wasn’t any crime. All Pak and Paolo did was tell that maggot Clemenceau that if he ever threatened us again, ever came after us . . .” The woman blanched. Swallowed hard. “Like you say: Donovan teaches hard lessons.”
“But you’ve learned them,” Kalico mused, glancing at the crate with its glass jars, all full of who knew what kinds of miracles like the ones being rubbed on her perplexing wounds.
“Not entirely.” Dya glanced up. “No telling what this is going to cost us. Mark’s already got a hole in his arm, and you’ve just threatened to have him arrested. The hospital’s surrounded by townies just waiting for the opportunity to kill Rocket. Somehow I have to keep my family alive and manage to get my power pack recharged.”
“What else you got in that box?”
“Salves, poisons, narcotics, antibiotics, anesthetics, emetics, a lot of things.”
“And Rocket’s really a pet?” Kalico mused, glancing at the surgery door. “Do you know how difficult that is to believe here?”
“More than a pet. They’re linked. Do everything together. Maybe it’s even symbiotic. God alone knows what would happen if you separated them.”
“Fascinating,” Kalico mused as Dya rubbed more ointment onto the cuts on her shoulders. “Which direction from Port Authority is your farmstead?”
“West.”
And that, Kalico suspected through sheer gut instinct, was the first lie the woman had told.